South Park: Population: 1,000 Crazy, Redneck Hicks
by Breezy and Wheezy Works
Summary: Craig Tucker likes things nice and boring. Ever wonder why? South Park's insanity can really take a toll on you. This story is'nt just about Craig, there's subplots with a bunch of other characters' problems.


Title: South Park: Population: 1,000 Crazy, Redneck Hicks

Author: Breezy and Wheezy Works

**Rating: T For Coarse Language, Some Sexual References and Moderate Violence**

Disclaimer: I do not own Matt and Trey's awesome characters!

Summary: Craig Tucker likes things nice and boring. Ever wonder why? South Park's insanity can really take a toll on you.

A/N: This story is'nt just about Craig, there's subplots with a bunch of other characters' problems.

* * *

**South Park**

**Secret Hidden Season**

**Episode 1: A Snowy Start To Craig's Messed Up Day**

___Theme Song Plays:_

_Les:  
I'm going down to South Park  
Gonna have myself a time_

_Stan and Kyle:  
Friendly faces everywhere  
Humble folks without temptation_

_Les:  
Going down to South Park  
Gonna leave my woes behind_

_Cartman:  
Ample parking day or night  
People spouting howdy neighbor_

_Les:  
Heading on up to South Park  
Gonna see if I can't unwind_

_Kenny:  
*mumbles*  
(Translation:  
I have got a 10 inch penis  
Use your mouth if you want to clean it)_

_Les:  
So come on down to South Park  
And meet some friends of mine  


* * *

_

_5:56 am, Wednsday, October 22nd_

**CRAIG TUCKER**

"Meow."

No response.

"Meow."

I hugged my pillow.

_"Meow."_

I pulled the blankets up.

"MEOW!"

My eyes flashed open in annoyance. I bolted up to see none other than Slate, my sister's annoying tortoiseshell cat, perched on my lap.

His sharp claws dug into my thighs, but I hardly registered this. My focus was on the cat's loud vocals.

He meowed again.

I scowled at Slate.

"What the hell do you want?!"

"Meow." He replied, loudly.

My eyes shifted to my alarm clock. 5:57. Five minutes before I usually got up for school. I furrowed my brows. Damn cat.

I reached over to my alarm clock and turned it off. No use in its annoying, loud screeches going off, if I'm already up.

Swiftly, I whipped back my blankets and swung my legs out of bed, leaving the cat in a mess of my comforter.

Standing up, I flipped off the bundle of blankets and sluggishly I walked to my doorway. I took a brief glance at the long mirror beside my door.

What stared back was a 5'6 fifteen year old boy. He wore a white tee shirt and ocean,sky, and Persian blue and white plaid pajama bottoms with white socks. His jagged, long, coal black hair was messy and tousled. His cerulean colored eyes were dull and tired. Dark circles lay under his blue eyes, lined with long lashes.

Eyes half closed, I turned away from the image and trudged out my door.

Cautiously, but still sleepy, I peered down both ends of the hall, to see if either of my 'lovely' parents were about.

I was met with still silence.

Quietly as I could, I moved down the hall, dragging my feet towards the living room.

For some reason, my eyes widened at my father, who lay spiraled out and unconscious on the couch. My mom probably commended him there.

One of his large, beefy arms draped over the edge, finger curled into his palm and twitching occasionally, along with his lips.

Frowning, yet praying not to wake the lunatic up, I stepped into the kitchen, sneaking almost silently over to the fridge and pulled it open slowly.

I scanned its contents for something hopefully edible.

I'm greeted by a rotten head of lettuce, a half eaten and stale scone, a quarter of a stick of butter, an orange and a questionable carton of milk.

In the hopes of having cereal, I take the questionable milk.

Opening the carton, I take a sniff.

Instantly, I withdrew, disgusted.

I checked the expiration date and scowl.

It reads: September 7th.

Over a month ago. It was mid October for Christ's sake!

I dumped the rancid white stuff in the sink and toss the carton into it.

Regretfully, I turn back to the fridge and grab the orange.

Surprisingly, it was ripe.

I slam the fridge door and began tearing off its peel, tossing the orange carcass into the sink.

When I sank my teeth into the delicious, juicy citrus fruit, my mouth watered in delight.

Best orange ever.

When I finished, juice wet my face and mouth. I quickly wipe it off with the back of my hand and wash it off.

Afterwards, I headed back to my room, trying not to make too much noise, because I did'nt want to wake up Emma or my mom. Just like me and my dad, they aren't morning people.

I entered my room, with its different shades of blue, generating a sad feeling into the air.

Groggily, I went to my dresser and pulled open every drawer, slowly pulling together an outfit.

It was simple, and probably reflected that I was half asleep when I chose it.

A black and white tee-shirt, black jeans, and a Prussian blue hoodie.

I had assembled the clothes in about two minutes, and got dressed in about three.

Remembering my messy hair, I picked up the comb that was always somewhere in my room- currently on the dresser- and brushed through my tangled mess.

Once my black hair wasn't as messy, I took my midnight blue chullo hat from my nightstand and slipped it on. After a bit of struggling, I managed to get all my hair under the hat.

My eyes looked around for my old black snow boots. They sat neatly next to eachother a few feet away beside my vent.

Slowly, I walked over to them and slipped them on, warming my cold feet.

My eyes shifted to the alarm clock. 6:13. I had to leave house at about 6:20.

Yawning, I grabbed my navy backpack beside the vent and put it on. I was ready to go. And happy about it.

Without much stealth, I snuck down the hall, into the living room. I turned, ready to head out the door, when I tripped over one of Emma's tennis shoe laces.

"Umph."

In horror, my eyes went to the source of the noise. My father was stirring.

I pushed my self up on my knees.

"Craig, goddammit."

I looked over to my dad. He was sitting up, eyes slanted, words harsh.

"Uh, sorry, Dad. I tripped over Emma's-"

"I don't care! Don't you ever wake me up, you brat!"

He tossed the ashtray off the coffe table at me, but it whizzed by me and shattered on the wall.

I stood up quickly and dashed for the door, and pulled it open.

Angrily, I turned back to my dad, scowling and flipped him off.

He returned the gesture, and I slammed the front door, angry at my father.

I fumbled around in my pocket, and fiddled with my ipod until it was turned on. I plugged the head phones into my ears, and jumped off my porch, into the snow.

I started to walk in the cold, white powder, strolling down the snow covered sidewalk.

_Crunch. Crunch. Crunch._

I've always hated the snow. Because when it snows, its cold. I'm rather thin, so I get cold easily.

Ironically, I live all around it.

I walked swiftly to school in the snow, my mind pondering several thoughts running through my mind. Like how terrible my family is.

My worn black snow boots swiftly kicked any white powder blocking my path to school.

My walk was quick and impatient, matching the beat of the music flowing from my ipod headphones.

_Wake up. Grab a brush and put on a little makeup. Hide the scars to fade away the shakeup. _

_Why'd you leave the keys up on the table? There you go, create another fable. You wanted to._

_Wake up. Grab a brush and put on a little makeup. You wanted to. Hide the scars to fade away the shakeup. You wanted to. _

_Why'd you leave the keys up on the table? You wanted to. _

_I don't think you trust in my self righteous suicide._

_I cry when angels deserve to die. In my self righteous suicide. I cry when angels deserve to die._

_Father. Father. Father. Father. _

_Father, into your hand I commend my spirit. _

_Father, into your hand. Why have you forsaken me? In your eyes, forsaken me. In your thoughts forsaken me. In your heart forsaken me. Oh._

I didn't like to admit it, but the angry music sometimes soothed me when I was feeling on edge.

With a light, sudden gust of cold air, my favorite chullo hat loosened and almost slipped off my head.

Irritation stung me.

Cursing, I took a gloved hand out of my Prussian blue zip-up hoodie and tugged on my almost-to-small hat I've had since third grade.

A whine of annoyance escaped my lips when a some foreign jagged black bangs wouldn't stay underneath.

This had been happening a lot lately, my hat was growing to small for my head, so I let it be and placed my hand back in my pocket.

I tried to concentrate back on the music and my footsteps, but when something cold and wet hit my jeans.

I frowned at the white icy particles clashing against my black jeans, quickly melting.

"Sup, Tucker?!" A loud yell of a greeting followed the snowball attack. I could just hear it through the music blasting through my ears.

Without looking up, I briskly swept it off the snow.

"Hello, Clyde. Hi Token."

The brunette and chubbier of the two, grinned widely at me, mischief gleaming in his brown eyes.

With a quick glance, I watched as Token came up behind him, looking slightly amused at Clyde's childish greeting.

I pulled out my head phones, and with sluggish steps, I walked over to my best friends.

My tired eyes shifted from the goofy grinning Clyde,and the indifferent, straight faced Token.

I noticed someone was missing.

"Where's Tweek?" I asked, a little surprised.

Usually Tweek walked to school withToken and Clyde and met with me halfway there. So naturally, it was a surprise Tweek wasn't with them.

Clyde just shrugged.

"I don't know." Token said.

"He's probably ran out of coffee." Clyde confined.

I nodded. That was a reasonable explanation. Tweek couldn't function without his coffee.

"Let's get going." I said, tiredly. My voice was hoarse, and my eyes were drooping. I wanted to get to school, before I fell asleep where I stood.

I gained a skeptical glance from Clyde and Token.

"Craig are you alright?" Clyde asked, tilting his head to the side, examining my sleepy face.

I blinked my eyes. small sting of panic coursed through my veins. But I calmed instantly, remembering not to alarm my friends.

"Oh my parents just had a fi-disagreement last night a little late."

It wasn't a lie. Just a little snippet of the truth. Craig Tucker didn't lie. For two reasons.

One, I renounced the ways of a liar because my parents were the biggest liars I knew and I could'nt live with myself if I ever had anything in common with them.

And second mostly, I had no reason to lie to anyone, because for the most part I didn't care about what other people thought. Except when it came to my home life. No one could now about my home life.

I yawned. " Although there was a lot of flipping off, they were yelling- sort of."

"Tough. I feel for you." Token replied.

I rolled my eyes. As if Token knew anything about parental fights or them being on the verge of divorce. His parents were rich and happy as can be- while mine were as angry as be and struggling to survive off welfare and low income.

"What was it about? They hardly ever fight." Clyde said sympathetically as we all started to walk to school.

"It doesn't matter." I say quickly. "It was just a fight that was a little late." I snapped. "It wasn't that big of deal."

I shuddered. I hadn't told my friends of how the fights had escalatedlately. Or how much my dad had grown increasingly voilent.

Clyde noticed my shudder and gave me a knowing-wait what?-grim smile.

I smiled back, slightly. Hoping, he did'ntknow the truth.

"I'm sure everything will be alright, dude."

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to pretend Clyde and Token knew how bad it really was. But they did'nt.

Just like everyone else in South Park, Clyde and Token bought my parents' well performance of pretending to be good parents. Truth was, me and Emma had the worst parents in South Park. Worse then the McCormicks. You thought that was impossible? Think again. At least Kenny's parents care what happens to him. My parents would'nt care if I went missing. But what about the whole Peru incident back in fourth grade? My parents are good actors. The only reason they even bothered to pretend because Stan and Kyle's mom flipped out and called them.

My parents don't care what we eat. Every night its TV-Dinners, arguements and finger flipping galore! Yippy! I could rant and vent all day about how horrible my parents are. But I won't. Not now.

I turned to Clyde, ready to change the subject as we closed in on the school.

"So, Clyde, how'dyour date with Bebe go?" I ask, hoping, praying that it'll get Clyde on one of his turbo rants.

On how he loves to tell us about his 'lady luck'.

Clyde grins and Token groans.

"Well, well, well, Craig my man, I do not lie-" Yes he does. Oh, how Clyde lies.

"I totally got her to-" I shut my ears off as Clyde goes into disgusting detail that would put put Kenny to shame. Its funny, because although everyone in South Park knows Clyde has hardly ever kissed a girl, let alone done one, he continues to lie about having sex with every girl in South Park. His stories come from lame romantic novels he's read.

As Clyde rambles on about his 'sexual encounters' with Bebe Stevens, and Token pretends to listen, I glared at my snow covered boots. I wanted this day to end so I could sleep.

I look up to see the big, ugly yellow high school. I glare with discontent.

I did'nt want to enter the school that had no heating when it was always cold.

October was'nt the coldest month of the year in South Park, but it was getting close.

On days like this I like to be indoors, sleeping the day away.

But it was Wednesday. That would have to wait. Because when we three freshmen, entered South Park High, we were greeted by something that would wake me up.


End file.
